Carlizle
by Um Draug
Summary: This is not the beginning of Carlizle's story. Nor is it the end. In this wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey series, we follow the life of Carlizle, the Doctor's part-time companion. Book 1. Carlizle is 16, traveling with 11th Doctor.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I edited this chapter to make the transitions between POVs more clear. I hope it makes it easier to read.**

**I do not own Doctor Who or Supernatural. The only thing I own is Carlizle, who is a figment of my imagination.**

Chapter 1

Carlizle stepped out of the TARDIS doors, giggling hysterically, and the Doctor followed behind her, dressed in a purple suit, a black-and-yellow polka dotted bow tie, and a bowler hat. He smiled as wide as he could and she turned towards him, returning that smile. She grabbed a different side of her unzipped jacket in each hand and wrapped it tight around herself, biting her bottom lip the way she did when she was happy. "We should go to Circus World more often," she told him, her eyes smiling.

"I don't go there _near_ enough. Last time I went…" He shuddered. "Nasty business. I've been terrified of elephants ever since. So…" he clapped his hands together, "let's make plans for tomorrow, yeah?"

"You're picking me up tomorrow?" Carlizle asked, cocking her head slightly to the right. She smiled, but it was a suspicious smile. "You never make plans. You just show up…what are you up to?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." But he smiled mischievously in spite of himself.

"You're totally up to something! I can…I can smell it on you!" Carlizle moved her hands up and down in front of him, wriggling her fingers in front of him. "It smells like shenanigans. You reek of it."

"Well, that's my natural musk, I guess," the Doctor said, straightening his bowtie. Carlizle shoved him playfully in return.

"So tomorrow, then? For this big 'mystery date'?" Carlizle made air quotes with her fingers.

"Tomorrow," he assured her, grasping her hands in his and looking into her eyes, his gaze sealing the promise.

"See you tomorrow, then," she giggled, biting her lower lip. He loved it when she did that. He let go of her hands and skipped into the TARDIS as if he were a young, happy schoolboy. He turned to see her wave goodbye, and then closed the door.

Carlizle didn't look away until the TARDIS had fully dematerialized. She kept looking at the empty space where the big blue police box had been, an empty feeling inside her. She didn't want to turn around. She didn't want to go back home.

But she did turn around, and she walked to the apartment that her uncle owned, her Converse sneakers squeaking against the wet pavement.

She wrapped her leather jacket closer around her as she made her way down the dark, dusty hallway of the apartment complex, and arrived at the door leading to her apartment. It was unlocked. It always was when she wasn't home. Her uncle didn't care much for his own safety. He was too drunk to care much about things like locks.

She nervously pushed open the door, wondering if her uncle would spring upon her suddenly and bash her head against the doorframe, screaming, demanding answers to where she had been, or if he would just sit silently in his recliner watching a hockey game with a can of beer in one hand and more empty cans littering the floor around his feet.

Neither happened.

This unexpected turn of events shocked Carlizle slightly. But she determined that he must be out, drinking with…she wouldn't call them 'friends', but probably more accurately, 'other drunks.' It didn't surprise her that he had left the door unlocked after going out. He was careless. Thoughtless. Drunk.

But he had left a light on in the kitchen. Carlizle hated when he did things like that. She could see the dim yellow light pouring in from the crack under the kitchen door. She walked forward, breathing through her mouth so that the reek of the semi-empty beer cans scattered on the floor wouldn't affect her as much. She pushed open the warped wooden door.

He was in there in his stained t-shirt, and his dirty, ripped jeans. He was standing in the middle of the floor, so drunk it oozed off of him like a halo surrounding his body. And he had a gun in his hand and a wry smile on his face.

Carlizle froze with fear. "What are you—"

He pointed the gun towards his head.

BANG.

Blood. Blood was everywhere and Carlizle _hated_ blood.

She must have blacked out for a second because she couldn't remember what happened.

Was everything in slow motion? Or was it going too fast for her to see?

Maybe she was stuck in her own bubble of time. And the world around her was going fast but she was going slow, so slow.

She reached forward to catch her uncle but he was already on the floor. What was left of him at least. And there was blood and…and other…matter…that Carlizle didn't want to think of…it lined the walls and the floor and the appliances in the kitchen were spattered with it. Carlizle fell to her hands and knees and retched but nothing came up, and it made her feel worse than if she had actually vomited. She reached up to touch her face and found it wet. She had started to cry without realizing it.

Carlizle stood up and shakily made her way over to the wall phone, praying to God that her uncle been sober enough to pay the phone bill this month, and she called the police.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"He just—he just—he—he—he—" It scared her that she couldn't form any words. She tried to stop her sobs enough to form a coherent sentence. "He took a gun I don't know where he got it please can someone come and help me."

The next few hours were a blur, but she remembered being given a blanket and something hot to drink. She had been questioned by the police. Had she told them anything? She didn't know. She didn't know where she was. It was a room. And there was a woman there in a suit, talking about her uncle's will, and how the proceedings were occurring faster than usual because of Carlizle's not having any other family left alive that they could place her with.

The lady was explaining something about Carlizle's uncle saying something in his will about a specific person he wanted to be Carlizle's guardian, but Carlizle wasn't paying attention and only nodded or muttered something when she felt it was necessary. Because through all of these proceedings and all of the questions and the hours and the numbness all she could think of was that the Doctor had promised he would come today and he hadn't come yet. Why didn't he take her away? Why couldn't she go away with him?

And then the lady was soothing her, because she had started to cry violently.

* * * * Carlizle awoke in a car. It was a government car. Carlizle knew that because of the smell. It smell…executive. Official.

Her neck ached from sleeping slumped in the seat. A red mark was temporarily on her neck from where the seatbelt had dug into her skin. She blinked several times and blearily looked around at the setting. They must have traveled far. She was with the lady again. They were both in the backseat and a stocky white man was driving.

_They must be taking me to my new guardian_, Carlizle thought, emotionally detached from the situation. How could the Doctor let them take her away? Why didn't he step in?

Where was he?

The lady was reading a newspaper, flipping through the sports section. Carlizle shifted so that she could look out the window, but that was a mistake. She had attracted the attention of the lady. The lady folded her newspaper and touched Carlizle's thigh. "Are you awake?" she asked.

Carlizle nodded in reply.

"Are you hungry?" the lady asked Carlizle. Carlizle glanced over at the lady, not bothering to turn her head. The lady had rich dark skin. Her hair curled out of her head in a wild way, but the lady tried to tame it in a severe bun. It didn't work and several strands had already broken free. Her dark brown eyes were too large to be considered beautiful, and her lips too small. She wore a light gray suit and black heels that looked painful to Carlizle. Carlizle shook her head 'no' in response to the lady's question and closed her eyes. A few moments of silence ensued, which Carlizle felt were comfortable but the lady apparently felt were awkward and needed to be filled. The one-sided conversation was something like:

"I can't imagine how you must be feeling."

"I'm sorry that you had to see such a thing…no one as young as you—" and then Carlizle tuned her out until the lady said:

"We're almost at Bobby's. I'm sure he'll have something for you to eat."

"Bobby?" Carlizle asked, confused.

The lady looked surprised that Carlizle could speak. "Ye—yes. Bobby Singer. Your new guardian? I thought we went over this…" She picked up a briefcase from the floor and rummaged through several papers. "I have the will here—"

"No, no…I just forgot for a second," Carlizle lied. "It's been a long day."

"A long couple of days, I'd guess. Almost a whole week." The lady shook her head sadly and returned to reading the newspaper.

Carlizle took this news soberly. That a week had almost passed by in her stupor. And the Doctor hadn't come to rescue her. He hadn't stepped forward and insisted that he be her next guardian. He hadn't even just grabbed her and ran, ignoring what the authorities might want. He hadn't come for her.

"Yeah," Carlizle sighed. She closed her eyes and slept; the sound of the road passing beneath her lulling her to sleep.

They arrived in a few hours to a house that didn't look like it had been lived in for a few years. It seemed that hundreds of cars were in the front yard ("Great, a crazy hillbilly that own a junkyard," Carlizle said to herself under her breath) serving no purpose other than to make it seem only ghosts inhabited this property. But as if to refute that thought, there stood a man with a beard and a cap in the driveway, arms crossed. He had been expecting them. Who knows for how long he had stood like that?

"We're here,' the lady gently told Carlizle, as if saying the words any louder would cause Carlizle to burst into flames. Carlizle rolled her eyes and the woman's inability to treat her like a real person, like an adult, and resumed staring out the window with her arms crossed. Almost immediately, she returned back to sleep.

The black car rolled to a stop in front of Bobby but he didn't move an inch. The driver didn't move from his spot, either, but kept his eyes glued to Bobby at all times as if he expected Bobby to suddenly attack. Bobby smirked at this thought, especially since he was sure that he could easily overpower the cocky, self-confident driver. The left backseat door opened and an African-American woman emerged, her formal and stiff suit looking ridiculous and out of place in Bobby's yard. She looked around at the old, dysfunctional cars around her and wrinkled her nose in distaste. Seeing the angry expression on Bobby's face in response to this gesture, though, she immediately stopped and kept her face unmoving. She walked over to Bobby and shook his hand, and introduced herself as "Miss Coleson". She immediately apologized for the short notice on bringing Carlizle.

"It's not a problem…So she was with Luke, right?" Bobby asked. He might have looked like he was trying to get information on the girl, but he was actually trying to get information on her uncle. Because he didn't remember anyone by the name of Luke Carpenter, and certainly never agreed to be the guardian of his niece. He had ignored all of this, though, for the girl's sake, and pretended to know everything about these proceedings, and pretended to mourn for the loss of someone that he actually didn't know.

"Yes. Poor girl." She looked him over, then said in a hushed voice, as if shocked by scandal, "I don't know if you know this…but Luke was a drunk. A mean drunk."

"Oh. He changed since I last knew him then."

"I suppose he did. Practically dropped off the radar for years. Didn't do much except sit around the house drinking. The girl had to work two jobs in addition to going to school, just to get enough money to pay rent. Didn't make him like her though." Miss Coleson shuddered. "You know, of course, don't you…about what he did to her."

No. "Yes, they told me."

Miss Coleson shivered again. "I'm sorry. I'm just…" She touched her hand to her forehead and shrugged, as if she couldn't explain her emotions. "I'm just new to this job. And so seeing those scars, and imagining how he gave them to her…" She shuddered again.

Bobby nodded slowly, and looked at the car to the girl in the backseat. She was pretty. She had freckles and dark blond hair and was wearing a leather jacket. He smiled when he saw that she was sleeping soundly.

"I'll go get her," Miss Coleson said. She walked back to the car and opened Carlizle's door, shaking her gently to wake her up. Carlizle snapped awake. Unexpectedly, she screamed aloud and shoved Miss Coleson away, unbuckled her seatbelt as quick as lightning and threw herself to the other side of the car, crouching in the corner, poised to attack again. All this happened so fast that Bobby had a hard time believing it happened. But Miss Coleson was there, trying to console Carlizle and persuading her to "come out of the car please." Carlizle seemed to realize that she had let down her emotional guard for a second. And then Carlizle's face lost all fear, all emotion, and became a face indifferent to the world around it. She was an island to herself and wanted no one else near her.

Carlizle got out of the car and allowed Miss Coleson to grab her elbow and escort her to Bobby. She unwrapped a piece of spearmint gum hat she had been keeping in her pocket and began to chew, avoiding Bobby's gaze.

She just wanted this over with.

Carlizle didn't care who this guy was. If her uncle had appointed him as guardian, he must be bad. All she wanted was the Doctor. Had he forgotten about her?

She pinched herself. _Stop thinking about the Doctor. Get over him. He obviously didn't think you were worth his time…well, then, he isn't worth your time either,_ she thought angrily._ It's a two-way street._

Bobby and Miss Coleson took her into the house and showed her the kitchen and living room. Then he showed her upstairs where there was a bedroom with a large, queen-sized bed and white curtains hung on the window. It smelled like old books and had a dresser against one wall. The walls were a red color and the wood floor creaked gently beneath her feet. She loved it. Of course, she would never admit that.

"This is your room," Bobby told her. "I fixed it up yesterday, so just…let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks," Carlizle said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. She walked into the room farther, turning to examine all corners.

"Do you have any stuff that needs to be brought in?" Bobby asked, apparently feeling very awakward. "Any luggage?"

Miss Coleson ever-so-discreetly cleared her throat and whispered in Bobby's ear. Carlizle knew what she was saying. How Carlizle didn't have any possessions except the clothes on her back because she had sold them all to pay for…well, anything necessary. _What a walking sob story I am._ She walked into the room and threw herself onto the soft, white sheets that covered the bed, kicking off her shoes and intertwining her fingers behind her head.

"Look, she's already at home," she heard Miss Coleson tell Bobby as she and he moved down the hall. Carlizle shook her head in contempt for the statement and rolled onto her side. Now they were probably in the living room, discussing how fit Bobby was for taking care of her, of different options of schools, whatever it was that they talked about in situations like these. Carlizle sniffled and scratched the side of her nose with her thumb and willed herself not to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Doctor Who. But I own a fez. Which is close enough, right?**

**Also edited this chapter to make it more understandable. Let me know what you think :) **

Chapter 2

Carlizle didn't do much in the weeks she lived with Bobby. Her days seemed to stretch, as if the hours would never end. She sat in her room, listening to the ticking of the clock and thinking how slowly time normally progresses. Not like it did in the TARDIS.

She ate whatever Bobby made for dinner each night, never complaining. In fact, she rarely complained. She rarely said anything, actually. She was the quietest teenage girl that Bobby had ever encountered. She went to school, a local high school that had unintelligent teachers and an abundance of under-educated students. She did her homework and got straight A's, each time never smiling with pride or happiness, just accepting the good grade and moving on with her life. After each dinner with Bobby, which was usually silent, or full of futile attempts to start a conversation on Bobby's part, she would clear the table and wash the dishes. Whenever Bobby said he was going out, she would answer with a "'Kay," and return to whatever she was doing. They couldn't have exchanged more than twenty words in their first few days together.

But during this time, while Carlizle was at school, or in her room studying, Bobby was doing some research on this man, this Luke Carpenter. Luke Carpenter. He hadn't recalled the name. That was wrong. Bobby was good with names. He would have remembered a Luke Carpenter.

This guy Luke Carpenter had been a real winner, from what he was told. God knows why Carlizle was under his guardianship in this first place. He had a rap sheet as long as Bobby's arm. That was the government, Bobby supposed, not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. Placing a young girl with a thug like him…what were they thinking?

Bobby would go out investigating some nights, leaving Carlizle behind at the house, never fearing that she would discover any of his hunting stuff. She didn't poke her nose around his house, but mostly kept to her room. Bobby would look around for clues as to who Luke Carpenter might be. He visited bars Luke had frequented, and talked to some of Luke's drinking buddies. He even went to some of Luke's ex-girlfriends, though they weren't exactly chatty. Or sober.

Bobby was sitting in the kitchen one night, well after midnight. Carlizle had already gone to bed, long ago. He massaged the bridge of his nose with his forefinger's knuckle and leaned over the notebook where information on Luke Carpenter was kept. This was impossible, it was hopeless. He would never find a connection between him and Luke.

Then Bobby's cell phone suddenly rang. It was a friend of his, a fellow hunter, whom he had called a few days ago, when he had been asking for information about Luke.

He answered the phone. And that's when he discovered the truth.

Sam sat in the front seat of the Impala, his jaw clenched. He glanced over at his brother Dean, who was driving with only one hand, the other pointing towards heaven as he attempted to hit a high note while singing along to a Styx song.

"Will you focus, Dean?" Sam snapped, turning off the radio.

"Man, I was listening to that!" Dean yelled, slapping Sammy's hand away from the radio. "My car, my radio, my rules." He switched the radio back on, ignoring Sam's icy stare.

"You can't keep on avoiding this subject, Dean! When are you actually going to _talk_ with me about this?"

"Uh, let's see," Dean said, mocking thinking hard. "When I start shopping for training bras and listening to Justin Bieber. Come on, Sam! It's Bobby."

"We were in the middle a case, Dean." Sam looked straight ahead at the road, refusing to look at his brother.

"Yeah, well, it can wait. Bobby said it was urgent." Dean leaned forward and cranked the volume knob as far as it could go, increasing the volume so Sam couldn't get another word in. He leaned back in the driver's seat, his leather jacket gleaming in the sun. "And we don't question it when it comes to Bobby!" he yelled over the sound of the music.

They drove in silence the rest of the way (or rather, they drove without talking to each other, there was never silence as Dean kept the stereo on at all times), not stopping until they reached their destination. The afternoon sun beat through the windshield, and, without air conditioning, the car was like an oven. Finally they arrived, driving past the yard full of dead cars that lead to Bobby's house. It was about two weeks after Carlizle had first arrived at Bobby's.

Dean and Sam weren't all that surprised to see Bobby waiting for them. He walked up to the Impala and tapped on the hood, nodding to them in greeting. Dean smiled and raised his hand in a wave, but Sam kept his lips shut tight and only nodded curtly at Bobby. They got out of the car, slamming the doors behind them.

"Bobby!" Dean greeted him, wrapping his arms Bobby. Bobby pulled away a second too soon for Dean not to suspect anything, and he scrutinized Bobby's face. He seemed different, like he held a secret that he couldn't bear to keep inside of him any longer. "Hi, boys," he said seriously, without a trace of a smile on his face, "come into the kitchen, I've got a couple of beers."

Not arguing with the idea of free beer, Dean instantly forgot about any worries he had about Bobby, and eagerly followed him into the house, with Sam trailing behind. Bobby opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer, setting them on the table with a nice cold thud. Dean looked over at the sink and found two empty glasses; two used plates; two bowls left over from breakfast. "Bobby, you dog!" he smiled. "You didn't tell us about any girl. Come on. Who is she? Neighbor? Gymnast. I'm betting gymnast."

"What?" Bobby followed Dean's gaze to the sink, and, realizing what Dean meant, immediately wrinkled his nose, disgusted. "Oh, God, no—sit your ass down, Dean, and listen to what I've got to tell you before you go opening that big mouth of yours." Sam smiled at this comment and Dean looked down, a bit humiliated. Dean and Sam sat down at the table, and Bobby followed suit. He seemed to struggle with his words, as if he didn't know where to begin. "All right, I have something to tell you." He stared them in their faces, pausing with his story. "This all started about two weeks ago. I got a call—"

At that moment the door opened and a tall, extremely thin teenage girl opened the door. She stopped dead when she saw the two strangers at the table, and they responded by staring as back, as shocked as she was. She slowly let her black backpack drop to the ground, never letting her eyes off the two men. "Afternoon, Bobby."

"Hi, Carlizle." Dean shot a questioning look at Bobby, which Bobby promptly ignored. "…How was school?"

"You know." She looked over at the clock, wondering what time these strangers had gotten here. And when they would leave.

An awkward silence ensued, broken only when Sam cleared his throat. Bobby was a bit flustered, but managed to introduced Sam and Dean Winchester to his…ward (which was the only word he could come up with although it seemed medieval), Carlizle Carpenter.

"_Not_ 'Carpenter'," Carlizle insisted. "Just Carlizle."

"What kind of name is Carlizle?" Dean asked, confused at who would name their child something so stupid. Sam kicked him under the table, indiscreetly.

"It's my name, so it's a good name," Carlizle told him, icily staring at him. Dean looked down to avoid the intensity of her gaze. She turned to Bobby. "Do you want me to make dinner tonight?"

"No, I'll do it."

Carlizle nodded. "If you need me I'll be in my room." She picked up her backpack and ran up the steps two at a time, leaving the speechless Winchesters behind her.

"Well," was all Dean could say. "That…that's new."

"Her uncle's will placed her under my care," Bobby explained, looking up the stairs to where Carlizle would be. "But here's the thing. I didn't know her uncle."

Sam's eyebrows knitted together. "But then why—?"

"Beats me," Bobby said, shrugging his shoulders. "Or at least, it did. But I did some digging around on him. Luke Carpenter. Took a bit of looking around, lots of questions asked, but I finally found it. He changed his name in the '90s."

"Did you know him before he changed his name?" Dean asked.

Bobby nodded. "Oh, yeah. I knew him. His name was Benjamin Winchester. He was your uncle."

Sam and Dean sat shocked for a few moments. "W—wait," Dean laughed, breaking the silence. "We had…an uncle…our dad had a brother that he never thought to _mention to us_?" He laughed out loud. "What—what else?" He chuckled. "Did Mom have a sister? Do we have a bunch of cousins out there somewhere? Hell, why don't we have a family reunion? We could swap stories about hunting. I'm sure that would make a great Thanksgiving." Dean obviously was not taking this seriously.

"There's a reason he didn't mention him, you twit. Ben wasn't exactly in the lead for most outstanding citizen award. He was a danger to everyone around him, just by being himself. He was a drunk with a temper, and no mercy. There's no way in hell your dad would have let you two boys around him, let alone _know_ about him."

Sam piped up. "So this Carlizle girl…she's our cousin then?"

Bobby sighed. "Well, here's the difficult part. She was placed under Ben Winchester's care when she was just a child—two at most. Her mom was a Brit who had come over to America on holiday." He scratched the back of his neck. "…And left pregnant without even realizing it. After she died, her child Carlizle was flown back over to America because she had no living relatives in England. Ben was Carlizle's mother's choice for guardian."

"Why?" Sam asked.

Bobby cleared his throat and placed his hands on the table, using gestures as he spoke. "Here's the difficult part. Carlizle thinks that her uncle was her maternal uncle, her mother's brother. So she doesn't know that she has any living relatives, and since you boys are supposed to be dead, the government certainly doesn't even think to place her with you. Because her uncle is your uncle as well."

"I'm confused…did he lie about being her uncle? He was actually her father?" Sam asked.

Bobby clenched his fists tightly. "No."

"No?" Dean asked, confused. "But I don't understand. Did our father have _another_ brother that he's kept hidden all these years?"

"Dean," Sam said.

"Are we back to our previous conversation? Are any other mysterious relatives popping up across the country?"

"Dean."

"What Sam?"

"Her uncle is our uncle."

Bobby nodded. "And your father is her father."

Dean sat shocked for a minute. "No. No. No. You're telling me that that—that—no. No." He shook his head and laughed a little. "No way. This is crazy, even for you Bobby."

"Is it true, Bobby?" Sam asked, breathing a little heavily with the weight of this news.

"I don't know how accurate it is. But apparently Ben wasn't always that bad. He was friends with Carlizle's mom. Had been for a long time. Set her up with your dad, but didn't tell her about how they were related. Maybe he thought it was some kind of joke, I don't know. But after he found out about her death he went mad. Started drinking, fighting, breaking the law. Carlizle was dropped right into his arms and left there without anyone to help her. Your dad didn't know about her, and she didn't know about him. Ben didn't care about giving the girl back to her father."

"This is ridiculous," Dean said, standing up and walking over to the window. The chair he had been sitting in fell to the kitchen floor with a bang, but neither Bobby nor Sam bothered to pick it up. Dean leaned against the glass pane, rubbing his forehead.

Sam moved closer to Bobby. "…What should we do?" he asked. "…Does she know?"

Bobby shook his head. "I haven't told her yet. I don't know how to…I figured I should tell you boys first. See how you react. Then you could help me explain to her…"

"We're not doing anything!" Dean snapped, turning around. "Damn it, Bobby, we were in the middle of a case, we don't need a huge distraction like this!"

"I'm sorry that's all she is to you," Bobby said angrily.

"Damn right she is! You don't even have any actual proof that she really _is _our sister! Just a bunch of hearsay!"

"Dean, calm down," Sam said.

"Don't tell me to calm down, Sammy! Don't tell me you aren't freaking out about this too! I don't believe it. I don't believe a word of it."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Because there's no way Dad would keep such a big secret, like him having a _brother,_ away from us!"

"Quiet, she'll hear you," Bobby cautioned, glancing up at the stairs.

"We're going, Sammy, come on."

"No, Dean," Sam said.

"What do you mean, 'no'? Come on!"

"Dean." Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder. "If this is true, and I'm not saying that it is…if this is true, do you really want to just leave her here? I'm sure Bobby would take perfectly good care of her…but don't you believe that…that maybe she might need to be with us?" He stared into Dean's eyes. "And we might need her?"

"What—? I don't need anyone, Sam," Dean insisted. "Certainly not some random teenage girl who appears out of nowhere claiming to be our sister!"

"Just stay here for a day," Bobby suggested. "Watch her. Talk to her. Tell me if you don't believe there's some kind of similarity between you and her."

"Just one day, Dean," Sam said. "If you don't believe it, we'll leave without her. But if there's even the _slightest hint_ that she could possibly be our sister…she's coming with us. We're not going to leave family."

Dean contemplated. He sighed heavily and shook his head. "One day. That's all."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Carlizle was up in her room, attempting to do her math homework and solve for _x_ when she heard the men shouting. She rolled her eyes and closed the door because she wouldn't be able to focus on her schoolwork while they were screaming in their deep manly voices. _Batman voices_, she thought to herself as the door closed, smirking. The noise became muffled and she was content.

She walked back over to her bed and sat down, enjoying sinking into the spring mattress. She pushed herself backwards and let her head fall on her pillow, crossing her legs so her right ankle rested on her left knee. Carlizle grabbed the math book and attempted to read it but wasn't able to focus. So instead she picked up the book she was reading for her literature class.

The book was _MansfieldPark_ by Jane Austen. Carlizle normally didn't read much (mainly because her uncle had kept no books in the house) but she was enjoying this book. She didn't think she would have. It wasn't exactly her style, what with all the dresses and propriety and everything. But she felt drawn to Fanny somehow, even though she and Fanny were complete opposites. She felt like she understood Fanny's situation, growing up in a strange place and being made to feel like she was less important than anyone else. Fanny did have a bit easier than Carlizle had, though, obviously, with her life of horses and fine meals and socialization with rich people.

But still, Carlizle felt connected to the character and was eager to read more. Carlizle had been an outcast in a place surrounded by mice, darkness, and decay; Fanny was an outcast in a wonderful home with servants and plays and carriages. She was like Carlizle in an alternate universe.

That got Carlizle to thinking about alternate universes. Could they possibly exist? Would she be able to go visit them? Maybe she could go and see her other self. She wondered what she was like in another universe, and smiled at the thought of her being a complete opposite person. Wearing dresses and not knowing how to fight. She giggled at the idea. Maybe the next time that the Doctor—

_Oh, right._ Her smile quickly disappeared. The Doctor hadn't come for her. He hadn't visited at all, not even just to pop in and say hi, flying off with her in his TARDIS before Carlizle could say anything. Like he used to do.

He hadn't known about her uncle. She had kept any details of her family life from him. She had made sure of that. He would have looked at her with pity, and Carlizle couldn't stand pity. So she made sure he was kept in the dark when it came to that part of her life. Doubtless, he knew something was wrong. He knew something was happening to Carlizle. But he never asked what because he knew she wouldn't want him to. For just this once in his life, he had quieted his curious and meddlesome nature, just in this one particular area of Carlizle's life. Because he knew that was what she wanted.

There was a knock at her door. Carlizle look up, confused. "Come in," she said.

The door opened to reveal Bobby, awkwardly standing with one hand in his pocket. He glanced around the room, finally settling his eyes on the math book lying unopened on her bed. "Supper will be ready in about a half hour," he told the math book.

Carlizle nodded, wondering why he wouldn't look at her. "Are those two guys going to eat with us?" _Please say no_.

Bobby swallowed. "I think so." _Damn_, Carlizle cursed in her head.

Carlizle laid her head back down on the bed. "'Kay." The monosyllabic word held so much more meaning behind it than just a simple affirmation.

Bobby lingered in the doorway for a moment, as if he wanted to say something. He must have thought better of it because he walked away, closing the door as he left. Carlizle couldn't understand why they were going to share their dinner with some random men that had just walked in, men that she had heard him fighting with just minutes before. But whatever the reason was, she concluded that it was Bobby's life, and she wasn't going to question it.

She finished the book (which she wasn't supposed to do for another two weeks according to her teacher) in a little less than a half hour, which made her feel empty—the kind of empty you get after reading a really good book and then realizing that it's over, and done, and all you can do is go back and re-read it because there is no more to it. And she wondered if that was what the Doctor felt like with his time traveling. He had been everywhere in Earth's history, from its beginning to its end, and maybe now he was just re-reading history and choosing the parts he liked the best to start at.

The thought depressed her and she threw the book to the end of her bed.

Bobby called her down to dinner a few minutes later. She lazily rolled off of the bed, landing on her hands and knees and scuttling towards the door. Once she reached the door, though, she drew herself up to her full height and walked like a normal human being, enjoying the thud of each step on the stairs.

The two men were sitting with Bobby at the table, murmuring in soft voices. One of them was really tall and the other was really cute. The cute one looked sullen and didn't say much. But the tall one was in a deep discussion with Bobby over something evidently of great importance, and probably concerning Carlizle because as soon as he saw her they both immediately shut up.

"Hi," Carlizle greeted them, not bothering to smile. They didn't bother responding, but the tall one smiled at her (however forced it might have been) and nodded in greeting. She sat down next to Bobby, directly across from the sullen guy, and began to dig into her lasagna.

The sullen guy, apparently voracious, dug into his lasagna with gusto, taking a moment after each bite to appreciate how good it was, sometimes audibly with a loud "Mmmmm…" It was a bit annoying and slightly barbaric to Carlizle, and she grew tired of it quickly. She, meanwhile, chewed her food without making eye contact with anyone at the table, and attempted to finish her meal as quickly as she could.

"Oh my God, Bobby," Sullen Guy, now temporarily happy, said with his mouth full. "This is freaking delicious. You didn't say you could cook."

"Well, I can. Kind of. But actually, Carlizle made this meal. I just warmed it up in the oven."

Sullen Guy looked over at Carlizle, who quickly looked down at her plate. "I'm glad you like vegetarian lasagna," she told him, quickly shoveling her fork into her mouth.

"Vegetarian?" Sullen Guy wrinkled his nose. "Like…no meat?"

"Yes. That's what it means," Carlizle said, staring at him as if he had drool coming out of the side of his mouth. Did he not understand the meaning of the word?

"Oh." He shifted uncomfortably at her gaze. He looked down at the food that he had just minutes ago been so audibly enjoying. It was obvious that he no longer found it so succulent, as he gazed at it like someone had put roadkill on his plate.

"So…you don't eat meat?" Tall Guy asked, attempting to take the focus off Sullen Guy.

"No. I find it…revolting." She swallowed another bite before resuming. "The fact that you're eating something that was once alive. Something that lived and breathed and ate and died." Bile was rising in her throat just thinking about a cheeseburger or a steak on the plate in front of her. "It's just sickening to me."

"That's stupid," Sullen Guy said with a snort.

She normally would have responded with the oh-so-witty, "_You're_ stupid," or would have needed time to think of a better comeback, but today she held her tongue and tried to ignore Sullen Guy.

"I think it's great," Tall Guy remarked, narrowing his eyes at Sullen Guy.

"Of course you do," said Sullen Guy, letting out a little humorless laugh.

Carlizle was annoyed at the tense atmosphere at the table and so excused herself and immediately left for her bedroom. It seemed like that was her one safe haven.

She didn't bother doing homework. That was too much of a chore. She lay down on her bed and rolled onto her side, not moving, just thinking about—nothing, really, she realized. She was wasting time thinking of nothing. And she was angry because she was sick of progressing through time in a linear fashion, and wanted to visit China during the Ming dynasty. She buried her head in her pillow and forced herself to swallow the urge to scream. She felt empty, like a shell.

She awoke about an hour later, not realizing she had fallen asleep, to Bobby shaking her gently. She sat up, still groggy from sleep. "What?"

"I'm sorry to wake you. But we gotta talk."

"About?"

"Your uncle."

Carlizle visibly tensed. "What about him?"

"Tell me what you know about him."

Carlizle brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, gripping her shoulders tightly. "Nothing. Not really. He was my mom's brother. Grew up in Kansas, I think." She tilted her head. "Which is weird since he said my mom was British." She shook it off. "But nothing beyond that. I think he dropped out of high school? That's about the extent of my knowledge."

"And what do you know about your parents?"

"Just what I told you. My mom was British. I guess I technically am, too. I was born in England, he told me. One night when he was really that's all I know."

"You don't know anything about your father?"

"You know, what is with this interrogation, anyway?" Carlizle was fed up with the questions. "What, are you trying to write my biography or something? Can you just stay out of my business?"

"No, I can't."

"And why not?"

"Because I think that those boys down there are part of 'your business'."

Carlizle was silent. "How."

Bobby sat down on the bed next to Carlizle. He struggled to find words. "Did…did your uncle ever tell you about a brother of his?"

Carlizle squinted her eyes, growing even more suspicious. "No."

"Those boys down there…Sam and Dean…their father was his brother."

Carlizle sat still. It seemed like she wasn't breathing. Then she said, "Okay." She rolled her shoulders back and inhaled, closing her eyes. "Okay. So…so that makes them my cousins, right?"

Bobby picked at a callus on his thumb. "…Did your uncle ever confirm that he was your mother's brother?"

Carlizle opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She paused in thought. He had. He surely had. Hadn't he? Come to think of it…had he ever expressly stated it? Or had she just filled in the blanks for herself? Assumed that he was her mother's brother?

"I—I can't be sure," she stammered. "What are you—what are you trying to say?"

Bobby sighed. "I'm trying to say…that maybe he wasn't your mother's brother. Maybe…maybe he was your father's brother."

"That's ridiculous. That's…that's ridiculous," Carlizle scoffed. Then she thought about what Bobby had said previously. "Wait. Wait, whoa—are you—? Are you saying that those guys downstairs—they're—" She couldn't finish her sentence.

"Your brothers." Bobby finished for her.

Carlizle nodded. She kept her lips shut tight, until they were only a thin line on her face. She breathed through her nose, her nostrils flaring with each breath she took.

"Are you okay, Liz?" Bobby asked her, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

She jerked away from his touch. "Don't call me Liz," she snapped. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?' Bobby questioned her, looking her directly in the face. "You've had news that would knock the wind out of anybody…I'm sure you must have questions—"

"I said I'm fine, would you just leave it?" Carlizle snapped. She leaned back so that she was lying on her pillow and crossed her leg. Her face immediately became emotionless, much as it had the day Bobby first met her. "'Kay?"

Bobby nodded sadly and, unwillingly, got up. He felt like she shouldn't be reacting this way, that she should break down crying, or throw something, or start shouting. Not this…impassivity. He left the room, pausing to look at her one last time before leaving. She hadn't moved, and her face was enigmatic as ever. He shut the door and Carlizle remained in that position for hours until she finally fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**You're all so demanding ;) there you go, two chapters in one day. I'll need to gain some inspiration soon if I'm going to continue this story, I'm running out of ideas 0.0**

Chapter 4

Bobby went downstairs to find the Winchester boys waiting for him, anticipation etched on their faces. "How did she take the news?" Dean asked, pretending not to be as nervous as he actually was.

Bobby snorted and sat down, crossing his legs. "Better than you."

Sam smiled. "Anyone would have taken that news better than Dean." Dean smacked Sam in the shoulder. Bobby shook his head and looked down at his hands. "It was so strange," he told them. "She didn't even react, really. There was something—but then she was gone, her face was blank. She didn't seem to care anymore—about anything."

Sam nodded. "Understandable."

Dean scoffed. "Understandable? How? Last I checked, when someone comes along telling you that you have a long-lost family, you don't take the news like you would if they had said the weather was going to be nice."

"She's been through a lot. Shutting out emotions seems the best way for her to cope," Sam replied.

Dean ignored Sam and leaned forward to Bobby. "As much as I'd like to stay on this subject, we didn't just come because you called."

Bobby tilted his head in interest as Sam took a piece of notebook paper from his jacket pocket. "We need your help," Sam said, unfolding the paper.

"What is it?" Bobby asked, leaning forward. Sam pushed the piece of paper towards Bobby, showing him a rough sketch of what appeared to be nothing more than a shadow—with red eyes, blood red eyes that scared him even as they were on paper. He shuddered involuntarily and pushed the paper back to Sam, whose face was grave. "I know that," Bobby told Sam and Dean. "If that's what you boys are hunting, you best be careful. Diseers aren't the most friendly of creatures."

"That's what it is? A…'diseer'?" Dean asked, his eyebrows knitted together.

Bobby nodded, closing his eyes. "How did you get on this one's trail?"

Sam glanced over at Dean. "We were in Missouri a few weeks ago. Saw this newspaper headline, something about a girl found in an abandoned warehouse, tortured to death. As if that didn't peak our interest enough, we saw almost the exact same headline while we were driving through Topeka about a week later. Same cause of death, same place: an abandoned warehouse."

"It seems like this 'diseer' or whatever likes to have fun with his victims before he finishes them off," Dean said, leaning forward in his seat. "Breaking a few of their bones, slashing open their skin, pulling some teeth…you get the picture. We were tracking it—"

"How do you boys know how to track a diseer?" Bobby asked, his eyes narrowing.

"We don't, really…" Sam said self-consciously. Dean cleared his throat. Sam continued, "We figured we would learn enough about its victims to find out where it would strike next—and who."

"Diseers rarely leave enough information behind about them. They hide in the darkness, wherever they can find relief from the sun—it burns them like acid. They do most of their hunting at night, and prey only on those that it considers…weak."

"The weak? It attacks the weak?" Dean inquired. "Like, people that can't fight it off?"

Bobby shook his head. "No. People who are…emotionally damaged. People who have seen more than anyone should in their life time. People who have experienced loss and pain. I'm sure if you dug deep enough into the victims' backgrounds, you'd be able find out that their life wasn't all sunshine and roses." He shook his head sadly. "No. The diseer feeds off of pain, and prefers those who can give him enough to satiate his hunger." His eyes became wider as he continued. "Like I said, it feeds off pain. First it starts with mental pain, something that you find annoying—the sound of a person singing off-key, the sound of nails on a chalkboard."

Dean smirked. "Doesn't sound too bad."

"I'm not finished," Bobby snapped. "Mental pain just serves as an appetizer for this thing. After that it moves on to emotional pain, such as convincing you that everyone you loved who is now dead died because of you. It whispers in your ear horrible stories. Stories that make a grown man weep for mercy. It breaks you down mentally, emotionally—and finally physically. Through torture. That's dessert for this bastard. Nothing is sweeter to a diseer than having its victim writhing on the floor in pain, screaming until their throat is hoarse, with their faces contorted in a horrible grimace. Diseers torture their victims for as long as possible, to draw out every ounce of pain they can get. They're always hungry, and it takes a lot to make them full. They only stop feeding once their victim dies—never before."

Dean and Sam sat in silence, broken only by the ticking of a clock on the wall. "How do we track it?" Sam asked finally.

"You don't," Bobby said forcefully. "There's no way to catch it, unless you stop it in the act of feeding. There's no way to tell where one is until after it feeds, and by then it's long gone. The only way of coming across one is through pure luck."

"Bad luck," Dean snorted.

"But how can we stop it?" Sam asked.

Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose, and then rubbed his face with them palms of his hands. "I'm not sure." He stopped massaging his face. "I'll do some research, see what I can dig up. There must be a way to track them, somehow."

"I certainly hope so," said Dean, standing up from the table. Sam followed suit. "Otherwise there's going to be no chance of us killing this thing."

Bobby bit his lower lip as he contemplated how one would track a diseer. "The guest bedrooms are ready for you," he told them absentmindedly, then got up and retreated to his own room without a goodbye, no doubt to find some lore about diseers. His door closed with a thud, and Dean walked over to the sink and poured himself a glass of water.

"We'll just have to wait for the morning to get answers," he told Sam, taking a long gulp from the glass.

Sam chuckled. "What is it?" Dean asked him.

"I just realized…we're going to have to tell Carlizle that she just landed in a family of ghost hunters." He laughed again.

Dean smirked. "She's going to think we're insane."

"Aren't we?" Sam laughed again.

Carlizle awoke the next morning in shock, sitting straight upright and shaking. She had been having such a pleasant dream. The Doctor had come for her, taking her away from this place with a determined look in his eye. He had said he was sorry for keeping her so long, but he had to save the world 20 years in the future and lost track of time, and to make up for it, he was going to take her back in time to see the American Revolution. Carlizle gripped her quilt and twisted it in her hands, as if trying to assure herself that this was reality, and not the dream that she had enjoyed so much. It had been so realistic. She had heard the thrumming of the TARDIS, and felt the cold, shiny metal underneath her hands. The Doctor had been laughing, his voice ringing out so clear, even in her dream. And she had been laughing with him, because this was where she belonged; this was her home and he was her family. Waking up was like being plunged into icy water unprepared.

"Forget him!" Carlizle told herself forcefully, pinching herself hard on the back of her hand in punishment for thinking such thoughts. "You don't need him." Today was the day that she was going to start living her life the way she wanted, and she wouldn't need the Doctor's help. She was over him. She was moving on. Who needed a 1,000 year old time-traveling alien in order to have a happy life? _Not me._

She tossed the blanket off of her and gently felt for the floor with her feet. It was freezing. She stepped down anyway, wincing as the icy floor touched her toes. Not bothering to make her bed, Carlizle made her way to her closet, tossing on jeans, a tight-fitting shirt, and her leather jacket that she never went without. She looked down at her Converse sneakers, sitting on the floor of her closet. They had so many memories associated with them—running with the Doctor from alien foes, or toward many an ice cream truck. Did she want to wear something like that, when she had promised herself that she was over the Doctor?

_Whatever,_ she decided finally, slipping them on. _They're just shoes._

It was nearly 8, which meant that Carlizle had slept in. She almost never did that. Quickly running a comb through her tangled hair, she made her way downstairs without showering. Seated at the table were the two guys—her "brothers", she had to remind herself. She didn't smile at them, and they barely noticed her. They were poring over thick, old books while they chewed on bacon. Carlizle smiled as she realized that was probably what she looked like when she was studying for finals. "Morning, Bobby," she greeted her guardian. She grabbed a plate from the cupboard and made her way over to the stove, where an iron skillet full of bacon was located. She reached in with her fingers, ignoring the searing pain, and grabbed one, placing it on her plate.

"I thought you didn't eat meat," Dean said, looking up from his books.

Carlizle popped the bacon in her mouth. "I make an exception for bacon."

Dean smiled and went back to reading his book. Carlizle sat down next to him, tempted to look over at what he and Sam were reading but deciding against it. She finished her bacon fairly quickly but found she was not hungry for anything else afterwards.

Bobby cleared his throat meaningfully, though he tried to make it sound natural. But Carlizle knew better and looked up at him beneath her long lashes. He was looking at Sam and Dean, trying to communicate with them through his facial expression. She glanced over at Sam and Dean, who looked at each other, before Sam cleared his throat as well. "Um…Carlizle?"

"Yeah?" she mumbled, not liking how she felt left out of their silent conversation. What did they know that she didn't? Why couldn't they come out and say what they wanted instead of needing to communicate through facial expressions and gestures?

"We really need to talk about something…something important," Sam said. "With Bobby." He glanced over at Dean, like it was Dean's cue to say something, but he stayed silent.

Bobby kicked Dean under the table. Dean winced before piping up, "But we want you to hear it as well since you're…" He looked like he had swallowed something rotten. "Family." He forced the word out like it choked him.

Carlizle forced herself not to snort, and instead leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed. "Well?"

"The first thing you should know about us is we're hunters," Bobby told her. Carlizle raised her eyebrows, about to lecture Bobby and the Winchester boys on how sick of a hobby hunting was, when Bobby finished: "Ghost hunters."

Carlizle couldn't help it, she let out a giggle. They looked so offended that she felt bad immediately. "I believe you. While we're getting our deepest, darkest secrets out of the way, I think I should let you know that sometimes I travel through all of time and space with a bow-tie wearing alien."

"This isn't a joke, Carlizle," Bobby told her.

"Who said I was joking?" she replied. She stared him straight in the eye, as if daring him to say that she was lying.

"We were hunting something," Sam said, breaking the tense eye contact between Carlizle and Bobby as Carlizle glanced over at Sam instead. "A demon, we thought. So we came here to ask for Bobby's help."

"And now that we've told you all we needed to, we big kids need to talk about this demon, so, go run along and put on makeup or whatever it is that you do," Dean told Carlizle condescendingly.

Her face darkened and she clenched her fists to prevent herself from throttling him. "No. I'm staying. I can help too."

"We don't want to get you involved in stuff like this," Bobby told her gently. "It's way too dangerous."

Carlizle smirked. "I can handle dangerous." She immediately thought of all her adventures with the Doctor. Yes, she could _definitely_ handle dangerous.

"This isn't some walk in the park, kid? Okay? People have died!" Dean practically shouted at her.

Carlizle finally snapped. "Don't call me kid. I am not a child. I know about things, things that no one else knows about, things no one else will know about for hundreds of years. I have seen things that nobody should see; I have visited places where nobody should go. I've faced death and danger enough times that now I greet them like old friends, so don't you dare for a _second_ think that I won't be able to handle myself."

Dean looked a little abashed. "Fine," he gave in grumpily. "She can stay."

Bobby grabbed a few of the books on the table. "I'm not going to explain everything, so do your best to keep up," he warned Carlizle. She nodded. He flipped open a book and pointed to a drawing—it looked like someone had gone crazy with a Sharpie except for the red eyes that peered out of the darkness. Carlizle shuddered involuntarily when she saw it. "Diseers are born from thunderstorms," Bobby told them. "Wind, thunder, lightning, darkness—it all comes together like a recipe for the scariest creature. That's also when it mainly hunts, during bad weather. It can hunt at night, too, but even moonlight can hurt it." He glanced up at Carlizle. "Sunlight is its one weakness, and even the sun reflected off of the moon can burn it good enough to hurt bad." She nodded with understanding and Bobby moved on. "Now, in each of the places that the deaths took place there were huge bouts of bad weather—random, too, they popped up out of nowhere."

"So we to hunt it, we look for cities with similar weather patterns?" Sam asked.

Bobby nodded. "That's the only way I can find. And I did some digging on weather patterns in the country for these last couple of days. Peoria is your best bet for where this sucker is. And remember, it likes dark, abandoned buildings. That's where you'll find it. I'm not sure exactly how to kill it, though," he admitted, shuffling through the pages of the book. "There's nothing in here about that, or in any of the other books I have with lore on diseers. I figure, though, we use its weakness. Sunlight. Somehow, you boys have got to figure out how to get it into the sunlight. That'll kill it for sure."

"For sure?" Dean scoffed, skeptical.

"95% sure," Bobby admitted, shutting the book again. "But it's the only idea I have, so if you can think of anything better…"

"No. It's a good idea," Sam assured him. "It's just…figuring out how to get it in the sunlight…that's going to be difficult."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Carlizle spoke up, shocking everyone as they had forgotten her presence. She looked at them as if they were stupid. "You all keep talking as if it's stupid enough to fall for some bait held outside or something. It's not going to go outside! That's got to go against every instinct this thing has." She bit her lower lip. "You have to bring the sunlight to _it_, not bring it to the sunlight."

"And how do we do that? Enlighten me." Dean's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Carlizle fidgeted in her seat. "I'm not sure—I'm not sure right _now_," she said louder as Dean rolled his eyes, "but I'm sure I can figure something. We just find the building it's in, and figure out how to get the sunlight, or even moonlight, flooding in."

Dean scoffed in disbelief. "We? You act like you're going to be a part of this."

"You made me a part of this," Carlizle countered. "I would have been perfectly fine if you all hadn't shown up and started telling me about this—this diseer thing. No, now that I know all of this, there's no way I'm just going to sit here. I'm going to go with you."

"Dean, come on—" Sam started, but Dean interrupted him. "No, Sam! I'm not going to be babysitting some punk kid, who has never hunted before in her life—"

"I've hunted before," Carlizle interjected. All eyes turned to her. "Well…not like you call 'hunting', but I've been after some pretty weird creatures, and sometimes they need to be stopped."

"Right, with your little Martian friend," Dean said.

"He's not from Mars," Carlizle angrily told him.

"Whatever, Dean!" Sam shouted. "Put yourself in her shoes. You wouldn't stay here after hearing all this, either!"

"I'm coming with," Carlizle told Dean stubbornly. "You can't stop me."

Dean pounded the table with his fist. Then he quietly said, "Bobby, I wish you'd never called us over here." He glared at Carlizle. "We don't need another person to look after, when it's hard enough to keep ourselves in one piece."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm unwanted everywhere," Carlizle said bitterly. "Tell me something I don't know."

Dean stopped talking, still glaring at her but with a small measure of shame in his eyes. Sam bit his lower lip and reached out for Carlizle's hand in sympathy. She pulled away. "You can come with," he told her, drawing his hand back. "But stay alert. Be careful."

"Duh," was Carlizle's only reply.

Carlizle walked out to the Impala, carrying with her a small green duffel bag full of clothes that Bobby had bought for her. "Is that all you're bringing?" Dean asked her.

"Why?" she countered. "You think because I'm a girl I would be arguing with you about fitting everything I own into the trunk of your car?" She had only packed what she needed, and left room in the bag just in case she picked up anything else on the journey. Maybe he thought she had stood in front of her closet for hours, wondering what to pick to wear, but she had actually just thrown in just a few jeans and shirts, in addition to the leather jacket that she wore at all times. If Sam or Dean knew that, they would probably pity her, so she kept silent about her wardrobe and tossed her bag in Dean's trunk. It landed with a soft thud, which was about the complete opposite of the creaking slam that Dean's trunk made as she closed it. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek with anxiety as she clambered into the backseat of the car. Sam was already inside, and motioned for her to buckle up. She did so immediately. She liked Sam, a lot better than Dean at least. He was mean. Mean Dean.

Carlizle looked out the window at Dean, who was exchanging words with Bobby. Bobby appeared to be lecturing Dean, because Dean was looking at the ground with an angry expression, his arms crossed, while Bobby spoke in a low, authoritative voice. _Probably telling him to be nice to me_, she thought bitterly, and turned her eyes away to stare intently at her feet. Apparently everyone had to be consciously reminded to be kind.

Dean finally gave Bobby a pat on the shoulder as a way of saying goodbye, before walking to the Impala. He got in, and started the car. Carlizle was surprised at the way it seemed to growl, humming with life. The car seemed to be a living thing. It was like being in the TARDIS again—_No. Don't you dare think about that._ She clenched her jaw and glanced out the window at Bobby. He looked so sad, waving goodbye to the only people he cared about. She didn't take her eyes off of him until the road turned, and he disappeared around the bend. Then she focused on the back of Sam's head, not daring to look over at Dean. He gripped the steering wheel aggressively, turning it with such force that Carlizle's head nearly smacked the window more than once.

"Calm down," she found herself saying to Dean, immediately regretting it. He glared at her in the rearview mirror, but otherwise ignored her, as if she didn't exist.

"Dean…" Sam began, but seemed to run out of words to say. He glanced back at Carlizle, an apology evident in his eyes, and Carlizle accepted it. Dean said nothing and kept his eyes on the road at all times.

Sam obviously was used to his brother being moody like this, but Carlizle was not. She was terrified, as she always was when someone was in a foul mood. Though she might not look it on the outside, on the inside she felt like curling up in a ball and crying. She had grown up being taught that if someone lost their temper, she would be the one punished for it. She had also been taught to hide any emotions of her own when someone lost their temper. Seeing Dean like this certainly didn't inspire any sisterly affection for him, and in fact she felt like yelling at him to stop, or hitting him, anything to make him disappear from her sight. She hated when people were angry with her, because it would remind her of her uncle, and she didn't want her first official day with her brother (or whatever he actually was to her) to be like _any_ of the days with her uncle. She put her hands to her ears to block out the sound of his low, angry muttering to himself, and pulled her knees to her chest, trying to remember something happy like she always did when she was scared. But all of her happy memories were with the Doctor, and she had thought she didn't need him to be happy, but this instance seemed to be proving her wrong. _Stop it_, she screamed at herself inwardly. _Shut up! Shut up! You can think of something, damn it, he isn't your whole life!_

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to hold tears back. How she could be so weak, falling apart when Dean hadn't even said an angry word to her, was beyond her knowledge. With her uncle, she wouldn't cry at all, no matter how angry he would get, no matter how hoarse he became from shouting, no matter how many times he would hit her; she would remain stoic, not even breaking down after he left her alone. But just the idea of her brother being angry with her, just for being herself, just for _existing_, was too much for her. She angrily wiped away the first tear from her cheek and sniffled quietly, hoping not to draw too much attention to herself. She failed miserably, though, when Sam looked back at her as if to see how she was doing, and saw her in such a miserable state. She immediately looked out the window, pretending nothing was wrong.

"Dean," Sam said with so much force that Carlizle opened her eyes wide in shock. "Pull over."

Dean looked over at his little brother questioningly, but did as he was told. When they were safely on the side of the road—nearly abandoned with little to no traffic—Sam opened his door and got out as soon as possible, slamming the door with such force that the car rocked back and forth. Without looking back at Carlizle, Dean exited the car, bewilderment etched on his face. As his door closed, Carlizle cautiously opened her own door, stepping out on the gravel apprehensively. Sam was already starting to yell at Dean.

"Come on, Dean! You could at least _try_ to be a little kinder to this girl! Know what? No! Not 'this girl', even! She's not just any girl, Dean! She's family! Our sister!"

"We don't know that!" Dean shouted back, causing Carlizle to take a step back. His voice sounded choked with emotion. "We don't know anything about this girl! Why should we trust her? She's given us nothing, no reason to trust her. And I'm not going to welcome every person claiming to be related to us with open arms, Sammy! You've got to be more careful than that! You're always too trusting!"

"Can I speak my piece?" Carlizle spoke up in a small voice. The boys didn't hear her, or chose to ignore her, because they continued fighting. "Damn it, Dean! I don't understand why you won't give this girl a family when it's obvious it's what she needs right now! Just because we didn't have a great family growing up doesn't mean—"

"That's not the reason!" Dean interrupted.

"Can I just say something?" Carlizle asked a little louder.

"That _is_ the reason, Dean! You can't trust anyone, and you're just forcing your own issues on an innocent girl, Dean!"

"Would everyone just shut the hell up while I say something?" Carlizle screamed.

Dean and Sam looked at her, panting after their screaming match. Carlizle's knees trembled. "Stop fighting, first off. I hate conflict. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. Just, stop." She breathed outward, trying to calm herself. "And second, I know I've been dropped into your lives, not exactly giving you a choice. And I'm sorry about that. But if you guys are the only family I have left, then…then I'd rather be with you than anyone else. And I'm sorry if I'm a burden, or annoying, because I don't mean to be. I'll try to be as friendly as possible. But please, please, don't be angry at me just because I'm…me."

Dean scuffed his boots on the gravel, kicking small pebbles a few inches forward and back. "Yeah," he said. Then, as if it pained him, "Sorry."

Carlizle nodded, approving his apology, then turned to Sam. "We can go now, if you're ready."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we're ready."


End file.
